


Scrawny Cluckbeast Legs Aside, Stripes are Slimming

by orphan_account



Series: HSWC 2014 BR Fills [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, HSWC 2014, Makeover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's cornering you and telling you to take off your pants. Hot? Not really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scrawny Cluckbeast Legs Aside, Stripes are Slimming

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:
> 
> Kanaya/Eridan
> 
> Remember when Kanaya gave Eridan a makeover?

“Take off your pants.”

You blink. She doesn’t look like she’s joking, but then again, neither did Vriska when she made the same request of you sweeps ago. No, she’s not joking, but she looks a little mad. Is she black for you? Since when?

“Uhhh. Not that I don’t appreciate the interest, Kan, but isn’t that a little forward? I mean, we could talk a little first, or maybe get dinner.”

She goes all startled, then offended. “I’m not coming on to you, I’m simply tired of looking at that striped disaster covering your scrawny cluckbeast legs. For someone coming from such a high caste, you have no idea how to dress. Take off your pants, and your shoes, that ridiculous scarf, and the stupid cape.”

Now you’re offended. You back away from her, as if she might suddenly launch at you and start stripping you down. You never know what lowbloods are capable of. “What? My cape? No!” You clutch your precious garment around yourself.

Kanaya takes a menacing step towards you, taking a very sharp looking pair of scissors out of her sylladex. “I’ve seen you trip over the damn thing dozens of times, Eridan. Not to mention, it’s gaudy and outdated. You could have gotten away with it at four sweeps, maybe, but now it just makes you look childish.”

Your earfins wiggle gently as you consider this. “Dualscar wears a cape.” Your esteemed role model is anything but childish.

“And he looks silly and undignified,” she replies firmly. “Now come here.”

Unfortunately, you seem to have backed yourself into a literal corner.

Several minutes and one short scuffle later, you’re sitting on the floor of Kanaya’s room in nothing but your boxers and your shirt. Your elbow is lodged in the bony flesh of one of your cluckbeast legs, and your chin is supported by your hand, making you look positively sour, which is the exact expression you mean to convey. Kanaya is sitting at her table, dismantling your cape and pants with her wretched sewing machine.

Occasionally she gets up and rummages through one of her many fabric piles for a piece of cloth. The process involves lots of muttering and tossing unsuitable cloths aside. The piles look incredibly comfortable, and you kind of want to relocate to one, but the effect of your sulking would be ruined if you looked at all comfortable or happy, so you stay where you are.

“Why am I the only one getting your special makeover treatment?” you ask over the whir of her sewing machine. She pulls the garment she’s working on away, cuts some threads, and holds it up to examine it. You’re not sure if she’s shielding it from your view on purpose, but it doesn’t matter anyway because you’re not curious, just mad.

Okay, maybe you’re a little curious. You lean slightly to the side, but she puts it back under the needle again before you can see.

“Because no one else wears striped pants.”

You stare flatly at the back of her chair. “That’s not really an answer.”

“You do not need to be here while I am doing this. You could go back to your room.”

“I don’t want to walk around without pants on! Not everyone carries eight different outfits in their sylladex at all times, you know. What if someone saw me? Or smelled me, I guess, if they were Terezi.”

“Maybe you should consider carrying more clothes with you for instances such as these.”

You don’t reply because you think that’s a stupid suggestion and you don’t feel like coming up with a counterargument if she’s just going to be difficult and unreasonable. You don’t know how long this is going to take, but after a few more minutes, you get a little bored just glaring at her back. It’s not very effective, since she isn’t looking at you. You eye the fabric piles again, but decide against them, opting instead to pull one of your military strategy books out of your sylladex. Every time she gets up, you’ll just give her the stink eye.

You try to do this a few times, but your neck starts to hurt from whipping your head up so suddenly, and you have a feeling you might look a little stupid, so you stop and simply focus on your book. After an hour or so, she comes over to you holding the finished product.

She seems to have recycled your cape into a jacket. The cuffs of it are circled by gold zig-zagging trim reminiscent of your symbol, and it has a short, stiff collar that will barely cover your gills. There are two gold buttons to close it, and one more holding closed each pocket. The pants she gives you are a very dark blue—almost black—and slim. They’ve got one blue stripe running up the side of each leg, bordered by decorative gold thread.

“Put them on. I am going to go alchemize you some shoes.”

She thrusts the clothes into your lap and scurries out of her room. You stare at them for a moment. You’re glad she’s gone so you won’t have to admit they’re nice to her face. For lack of anything better to do, other than snooping, which would strike you as kind of uncalled for, you wiggle into the jeans and slip into the jacket. They fit perfectly. 

You look around the rest of the room. She must have a mirror—ah, there it is. Wow. You step closer to it. You look…really good, actually. This is another thing you wouldn’t admit to her, but you think you do look more mature. The short collar on the jacket makes your neck look long and elegant, and the rest of it just looks smart. Your legs are pretty skinny, but the tightness of the jeans makes them look less so. Your socks punctuate the whole look with an air of stupidity, though. You wiggle your toes in them and scowl.

Kanaya comes back a few minutes later, and you practically jump away from the mirror so she won’t catch you admiring yourself. She looks you up and down and smiles. “What do you think?”

You give a small shrug and an indignant sniff for the sake of your destroyed cape. “It’s not any worse, I suppose.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling. “Shoes?” She offers you two simple purple sneakers. They look almost exactly like your old ones, minus the blue and with cleaner laces.

“I don’t exactly want to walk around in my socks,” you say, taking them from her. You’ve stepped on stray floor-dwelling wands before, and it isn’t very fun. You kneel down to put your shoes on.

When you’re done, you stand up, and she gives you another once over, now that the picture is complete. “Looking sharp, Mr. Ampora.”

You sniff again, but on the inside, you’re smiling.


End file.
